


A Single Soul

by Masu_Trout



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted No Mercy Route, Enemies to (Sort of) Friends, Frisk is Developing a Conscience, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Protective Sans, Sparing Papyrus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You spare one measly monster and suddenly it's like the whole Underground wants to talk to you.</p><p>(Frisk and Sans have a conversation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Soul

The shorter skeleton is already in Waterfall by the time you get there, set up behind one of his little sentry booths and grinning smugly. (The skeleton is always grinning—not like he can do much else—but somehow this smile just _feels_ especially self-satisfied. It grates on you.)

You hunch your shoulders and a walk a little quicker. You'd been hoping to avoid this particular monster. No such luck, you suppose; a lot of things haven't been going right for you lately.

“Hey, kid.” 

You stop and turn at the sound of his voice. One hand drifts down towards the (fake, tragically) knife hooked to your belt loop. There's something about this monster that screams danger to you; he's always where you least expect him to be, and no matter what you do he never seems all that surprised. It's awfully creepy just how fast he can get around, and coming from you that means a _lot_.

For a moment you just blink at him. You're not _friends_ , he shouldn't be talking to you, and maybe if you stare long enough he'll take a hint. It doesn't even come close to working; he just stares back with those empty sockets of his and waves one bony hand in an overly-familiar gesture.

You sigh. Not much point in a staring contest against a creature with no eyelids.“What do you want?”

At the sound of your voice, he grins even wider. The bony mask he calls a face creaks and warps as his expression shifts. “Bit grumpy today, aren't you? Maybe you woke up on the wrong side of...”

You put every ounce of your willpower into the glare you give him. 

The skeleton laughs. "Not a fan of puns either, huh? Well, your loss.” 

He leans back in his chair and rests his slippered feet against the counter of his booth. It's strange to watch—none of the monsters down here look _normal_ , but there's still something especially bizarre about seeing bare, bleached-white bones moving and flexing on their own.

 _He's off-guard_ , some quiet, predatory part of you whispers. You push the thoughts down and slip both your hands into your pockets. (Just because it's comfortable, of course. Not because it makes it harder for you to grab your knife.)

“Why are you talking to me?” you snap. “You don't like me at all.”

Embarrassing, embarrassing. The words come out sounding childish and whiny—as if you actually cared what this monster thought.

“Nope,” he agrees cheerfully. “Can't stand you. But still...” He pauses for a moment, his strange blue tongue poking out from the corner of his jawbone as he thinks. “Still. I really respect what you did back there. So thanks, I guess.” Beneath the layers of false cheer and forced calmness in his voice, he almost sounds genuine.

“Ahaha...” Your smile starts off small, and then grows and grows and grows until your face is stretched so wide you think it might split. You're sure you look demonic right now, positively vicious, but you couldn't stop if you tried. Really, you don't want to stop—this monster should know what he's talking to, what he's _thanking_.

“You're grateful to me? For leaving one measly monster alive?” You slide your hand out of your pocket and watch him watch you run your finger against the dulled edge of your pretend-knife. “ _Do you know how many I've killed_?”

The monster's eyes dim as he watches you, until all you can see in them is endless, empty black. When he speaks, all the cheer is gone from his voice. “Enough to cover your hands in dust. Enough that the whole town could tell there was something wrong with you.”

“The whole town except your brother.”

“Yeah.” The skeleton tilts his head to the side. His grin looks even stranger from the new angle. “He's always been that way. Doesn't know when someone's beyond being saved. To be honest, when I realized he'd gone to meet you...” He laughs quietly to himself. It's not a happy sound. “Well. You know what I was expecting.”

Yes, you know. You were expecting it too. You'd pulled out your knife, creeping and closer, ready to watch the idiotically trusting expression on the tall one's face turn into fear and pain. And then—

You'd stopped. Even now, you're not sure why; there's no reason this monster should be any different from the rest. There's no reason you should _care_. 

But some part of you decided to lower that knife.

It was boredom, you decide, or curiosity. You've already killed so much that it's hardly exciting anymore. Being able to touch a real live skeleton, though? Way more novel.

(He gave a pretty decent hug. A bit bony, maybe, but he put his fragile little heart into it.)

“I could just decide to kill again,” you tell the monster. “Maybe I already have.” You're not sure what you're trying to do right now: fight him? Scare him? Warn him off?

 _I'm evil,_ you imagine yourself saying. _I'm worthless and vile and you'd be better off if you just killed me now._

Would he laugh at you again? Or would he realize how serious you're being?

“You haven't,” the monster says. “There's less dust on your hands than there used to be—I think I can actually see a bit of your skin now.” He shrugs. “Whether you'll start again... well, I guess that's for you to say, isn't it?”

“You're pretty stupid,” you tell him petulantly. 

He laughs. “Don't worry, I get that a lot.” He sticks his hand out over the counter top. “What do you say we try this again? My name's Sans. You don't have to tell me yours, 'cause I guarantee I won't remember it.”

You snort. _Sans_. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous creature. You've heard it said before, of course, but it never really sunk in. There was no reason for you to bother putting a name to any of the monster's faces, not when they'd all be dust soon enough. 

It feels different now, somehow. You roll the name around in your mind. Short, snappy, to the point—it fits him. 

“Sans,” you say, a little cautiously. You walk up to his booth with quick, jerking steps. After a moment of hesitation, you grasp his bony hand in your own.

The noise that echoes through the cavern is truly horrendous. It drowns out even the rushing water and Sans' cackling laugh.

Your heart just about leaps out of your chest and you jump backwards so fast you nearly fall over. “What-” Your breaths are coming harsh and quick; you can feel your pulse thrumming through your veins. “What _was_ that?”

Sans is doubled over on the booth's counter, shaking with helpless laughter. If he had tear ducts, you're sure he'd be crying right now. “Even _you_ ,” he gasps out between laughs, “Aren't immune to the whoopee cushion trick, huh?”

You frown, unsure how to react. It would be easy to grab the knife on your belt loop—he'd stop laughing real fast if you waved it around—but somehow that doesn't feel quite right. You don't have any idea how to react like to something like this.

 _Well, whatever._

If you're already unsure, there can't be any harm in trying a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So if you abort a No Mercy run by sparing Papyrus, you get some really fantastic (and strangely adorable) extra dialogue when you next meet Sans. I couldn't _not_ write something about it. (Plus, I really love the idea of a murderous Frisk getting dragged kicking and screaming into becoming a better person.)


End file.
